


reach out and touch someone

by keigeyama



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AND DUMB TEENAGE FLUFF, M/M, Underage Drinking, but i'm gonna be straight up with you guys, ft hinata because i love him and cant ever not have him around, kags and tsukki tackle social situations, nothing actually happens, this is 5k words of them being dumb and trying to interact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6539545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keigeyama/pseuds/keigeyama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>He's cradling the bottle of whiskey in his hands when Tsukishima sidles up to him, the gold of his eyes bright even in the dim lighting. Kageyama looks up at him, mouth loosening, and cuts his eyes to slight quirk at the corner of his mouth briefly. "Don't you have anything else to do?"</p>
  <p>Tsukishima tucks one hand into the pocket of his jeans and shrugs. "Something like that".</p>
</blockquote><p>In which Kageyama and Tsukishima get along. Or try to anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reach out and touch someone

Hinata wants to throw a party.

A small gathering, he amends, when Kageyama shoots him one of his glares. It's simple enough: a couple of beers, music, whatever snacks they can smuggle from the coach's store—maybe some pizza and a little cake if they can manage to get their hands on it.

"I don't care," Kageyama says, when Hinata latches onto his arm and tries to tell him about it during lunch. "Do what you want. Just don't drink too much".

Hinata only looks briefly chastised before he nods and starts up again. "Right," he says, "There's one more thing," and Kageyama knows him well enough to say that the look on his face can't mean anything good for him. "We don't really have a place. I can't throw a party at mine, obviously—mom's having a couple of people over, and we can't use Suga's, remember—that incident from last time? So I told them that we could use yours—"

"You _what_ —"

"—and the coach said he cancelled our morning practices because his mom caught a cold. He has to stay with her and watch the store until she gets better and—"

"He _what_ —"

"I already texted everyone," Hinata grins, wide and shit-eating like he has a fucking right. "So that takes care of that". He glances at his phone, his face brightening a little and gag, Kageyama can practically hear Hinata beaming at the text Kenma sent him. "The party's tonight, by the way".

Kageyama blinks and wonders if he can get away with hiding the body, snarls. "You dumbass".

 

* * *

 

Here is what happens: Everyone shows up. It's not party exactly, but it's not a particularly small gathering either. There's cake and lights and streamers, lots of dancing and more than just a few crates of alcohol are involved and—

"Ngh," Kageyama says, when he walks into the living room. "What the shit?"

The house had been overturned—pizza boxes on the floor, streamers torn down and ripped apart, anywhere you stepped your shoes came away with peanuts and cake. And Hinata was currently taped to the wall.

"Um," Hinata mutters, scrunching his nose a little. "I have a really good explanation for this—"

"Oh, don't even start," Kageyama hisses, crossing over to where he was in three short strides. Hinata tried backing away a little, and then seemed to remember that he was still taped to the wall. Honestly. Why is he even surprised.

"Um," he says, as Kageyama tears the duct tape down. Hinata falls, a tangled heap of knobby knees and sharp elbows and orange hair on top of him and tucks his chin into Kageyama'a chest affectionately. "Thanks".

"Don't act cute," Kageyama grunts, hoping that his glare compensated well enough for the fondness in his voice. "You're cleaning this up".

"Later," Hinata promises. He takes Kageyama's hand and hauls him up and they both step over stray peanuts. Kageyama is desperately trying not to cringe at the sound of them being smushed into his mother's carpet when Hinata tilts his head back at the drink in his hand. Squints. "Is that milk?"

Kageyama frowns down at his drink. "Um".

"This is a party," Hinata says, looking inexplicably betrayed by his choice of beverage. He snatches the drink from his hands and flings it out the window. Kageyama thinks about all the possible ways he could get away with murder. "Go drink something else".

"This is my house," Kageyama says flatly. "And we're out of milk".

"I meant something other than milk, dumbass". Hinata rolls his eyes—he's always doing that; Kageyama's tempted to poke them out sometimes—and pushes a bottle of whiskey into his hands.

"I'm not—" he starts to say, but Hinata's already weaving through the crowd, the bright orange of his hair barely visible through the roomful of people. He's alone.

Only, not really. The mass of sweaty bodies and the smell of alcohol-stained breath testify as much.

Kageyama bites his cheek, scowls, disappears into another room and flops down on the couch. He wasn't big on parties, especially not the kind of celebrations his team liked throwing. While the amount of people was roughly the same, this was different from a game, or a practice match—at those, he was usually huddled with the rest of the team, waiting to play. And when it came to crowds themselves, his only regular interaction with them was after the match was over, thanking them. Now that he was somewhere else, he felt ridiculously out of his element.

He's not exactly alone, but it's quiet save for the occasional spill of laughter and pounding music from the other room. Kageyama doesn't really know what he's doing here, but he feels oddly out of place. The way he always does when his teammates are talking about something that isn't volleyball or when other students know the answer to a problem he doesn't know how to solve. The persistent electronic beat mingling with his teammates' laughter makes him uneasy, grating on his nerves.

"Not having fun?"

He's cradling the bottle of whiskey in his hands when Tsukishima sidles up to him, the gold of his eyes bright even in the dim lighting. Kageyama looks up at him, mouth loosening, and cuts his eyes to slight quirk at the corner of his mouth briefly. "Don't you have anything else to do?"

Tsukishima tucks one hand into the pocket of his jeans and shrugs. "Something like that".

The answer is vague, to say in the least and it sets him on edge. Kageyama's almost tempted to press for another answer, at the very least an elaboration, but Tsukishima doesn't say any more. Kageyama knows that it's unlikely he'll get anything out of him anyway—Tsukishima can be hard to read even when it comes to the most pointless of things, as unreadable to most as Kageyama himself. He bites back a scathing remark.

"Okay," he says carefully, and with great difficulty, he tries again. "Why are you here?"

Tsukishima ignores him, predictably. He eyes the bottle in Kageyama's hands instead of answering and the disconcertment morphs into mild irritation—the only feeling he can fall back on when it comes to dealing with the middle blocker. It's not exactly strange; it's even sort of familiar, in a scathing sort of way. "Are you going to drink that?"

There's a long pause where Kageyama squints at the dim lights into the far corner of the room and Tsukishima fiddles with the wire of his headphones, and then, "Here," Kageyama says, and tosses him the bottle. "It's yours".

Tsukishima catches it and nods absently, taking a swig from his drink. He drops down into the couch and settles in right up against him, close enough that their shoulders brush.

"I didn't say you could sit here," Kageyama complains, but Tsukishima clearly doesn't care about what he wants because all he does is roll his eyes at him. He does that too often. Kageyama has a feeling this is going to be another thing between them. This may be a problem.

"You don't get to tell me what to do".

"You're in my house," Kageyama says blankly and Tsukishima tilts his head, eyeing him with the same look of disinterest he usually has when someone isn't talking about dinosaurs. Kageyama knows it well. It's the same look he has when Hinata talks to him about anything that isn't volleyball-related.

"I wasn't aware," Tsukishima says, "that my presence was such a nuisance that you can't stand my drinking alcohol and sitting three inches away from you. Still, it's nice to know I have some sort of effect on you, King".

Kageyama bristles, more at the nickname than at anything else. For a moment, he considers snapping back, then decides against it. And there's really nothing he can say to that without sounding like he _is_ affected, so he settles for something standard. He mutters, "Do what you want," and Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at him before settling back into his seat with a hum.

"You look uncomfortable".

"It has nothing to do with you," Kageyama scowls, instantly on the defensive. "Shut up".

"I never said anything about me," Tsukishima snorts, fingers curled around the neck of the bottle evenly. He takes another swig from his drink and then, around a mouthful of alcohol he says, "You belong somewhere else".

He can't help the sudden flare of annoyance in his chest. It's kind of sad, how he sort of knows what he means. "And you would know, wouldn't you?"

"I know a lot of things," Tsukishima says, in a tone that suggests he probably does. He turns to him, eyes serious, and then he grins, sharp and cutting and boyish. It lasts all of two seconds, but it's enough to make Kageyama feel like he's been entirely disarmed. "You'd be surprised".

There's a cutting insult at the tip of his tongue. It's a good one—something about Tsukishima not knowing as much as he thinks he does, but that he's been staring at him for half a beat too long sort of ruins the whole effect. So instead he says, "God. You're annoying".

Tsukishima shrugs, his shoulders moving underneath the sharp cut of his jacket. "I've heard that before," he says, sounding like he might be amused. "You'll have to do better".

"I don't have to do anything," Kageyama grumbles. "This is ridiculous. You're ridiculous".

It's probably not the longest string of words they've said to one another, but it's not like they have any real reason to talk—or even interact, outside of school and volleyball, so they don't usually exchange much conversation aside from the few casual insults and some snarky banter. But some days, when the sun shines a certain way, and when they're in a good mood, or if practice has gone particularly well, Kageyama forgets about not even really liking each other, and starts smiling at him instead. Tsukishima smiles back, sometimes. He'll even let Kageyama walk home with him; maybe casually tell him about his dinosaurs, which is how Kageyama figured out he was a total nerd, by the way. And he'd never admit it, but he liked those days best.

It's too bad tonight's not one of them.

"I see you've been expanding your vocabulary". There's a smirk there, just barely. It's small enough that he almost misses it, but he's gotten used to seeing that look on Tsukishima's face—it's the same one he has on when they argue. It's sharp enough that he doesn't. "You might want to take it easy, King. You look like you might hurt yourself trying to think".

"Don't call me that," Kageyama says, automatic, still unsure what to feel. There was anger there, yes, but there wasn't nearly enough of it to make him want to do something. Kageyama looks off to the side, scowling; Tsukishima keeps on smirking, though it's more amused than smug this time.

"You're awfully touchy".

"You're awfully annoying".

"You already said that".

"Fuck you," Kageyama snaps but it doesn't come out in as sharp of a voice as he would have wanted. Tsukishima rolls his eyes at him, like he's pained, but the corner of his mouth kicks up, a little patronizing, but mostly just entertained.

He tilts the bottle towards him. "You need to work on that," he says. "Drink?"

Kageyama cuts his eyes away from him for a moment—Daichi's walked into the room, Suga in tow—and thinks about how they're not really friends; they're barely acquaintances. But he glances around; makes sure their captain isn't looking and takes the bottle before he can convince himself not to.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You're an idiot," Tsukishima tells him later when they end up sitting together on the floor, backs pressed against the wall. Kageyama frowns; he doesn't know why they've pushed themselves into the far corner of his room beside the closet like this instead of somewhere more ergonomic, like, say, the bed, but Tsukishima hasn't said anything about being uncomfortable, so he doesn't complain either. The bottle of whiskey rests in his lap, already half-gone. Kageyama reaches for it. Tsukishima slaps his hand away. "This is mine".

"Asshole," Kageyama replies. He reaches for the bottle again, this time succeeds in lifting it out of Tsukishima's grasp. "This was mine first".

"You gave it away," Tsukishima points out, and then, straightening, he hisses, "Move your goddamn foot".

Kageyama shoots him a look, the one that always sends Hinata scampering away, but Tsukishima hardly even bristles. Probably because it's a look he uses quite often himself: an unapologetically apathetic expression, laced with disinterest and disdain. It's another one of those things they share like: annoying best friends and not knowing how to handle social situations and volleyball. "You move, dumbass".

"Your insults are getting worse," Tsukishima says, absently, his mouth curling just a little. Kageyama frowns at him, slightly insulted, but he nudges the bottle into Tsukishima's hands; a silent offering.

Tsukishima takes it, long fingers curling around the bottle. He looks amused, almost grateful, but then his eyes flick to him, suspiciously, like he wasn't the one who whined about the party being too loud and suggested they go somewhere else. "Remind me again, why we’re here".

Kageyama scowls at him hard for a long moment, but it's half-hearted more than anything. "I thought you wanted to go someplace quiet".

They're sitting close enough that Tsukishima's thigh is practically in line with his, muscles tensing through the rough fabric of his jeans. He's actually being quiet, for once. It's not uncomfortable exactly, but the silence sets his teeth on edge.

He still isn't sure how to act around Tsukishima, what he can do or what he can say to him like he's sure with Hinata and the rest of the team. It wasn't as if he hated him, exactly—because he didn't. It was just that they hardly ever got along. Fighting and arguing—that was all part of their relationship. On the court was the only place where they actually worked well, but even then, they were still constantly at each other's throats.

Dimly, he wonders why he didn't just ask him to leave like he should have done in first place. He considers it for a moment and then immediately regrets his decision because why did he even bring him here. Why is he so stupid always. It's hard to tell if he should say something—

Until it isn't.

"Right," Tsukishima snorts, because he clearly has to be  a little shit about everything. "This isn't what I meant".

"I miss the days when you weren't this much of a dick," Kageyama says. Pauses. "Oh wait".

This is how it goes with them: one of them does something stupid (usually Kageyama) and the other one says something snarky about it (Tsukishima). It ends with Daichi trying not to yell at them and Suga having to drag them away from each other, Hinata laughing at them from the sidelines and Yamaguchi burying his face in his hands when they start up again.

"I'm glad we share the same sentiment," Tsukishima says, eyes flicking over at him and then away again. There is something that looks almost amused in them, light enough to pass for teasing, but it's gone before Kageyama can think of it any further. Now, when Kageyama looks at him, he only looks insufferable, smug. "I'm not very fond of you either".

"You're an ass," Kageyama snarks and thinks about punching him in the face. Regretfully, he decides against it—because Daichi would kill them and Yamaguchi would probably stop speaking to him and he is obviously the better person between the two of them why does this always happen to him—and settles for kicking his foot instead.

"You are the epitome of maturity," Tsukihima deadpans, turning the bottle in his hands. He's beginning sound a lot more like his usual self, which is, to say, a total dick. "And also stupidity".

"I'm not stupid," Kageyama gives him a withering look. Tsukishima blinks at him, lip curling slowly. Kageyama blinks back. "Shut up".

Tsukishima lets out a huff that sounds almost like a laugh. "When was the last time you cleaned up?" He asks and pokes at Kageyama's shoulder because alcohol does nothing to quell the fact that he's still a dick apparently. "And does it have to be so dark—"

"I have seen your room," Kageyama says, tapping a finger against Tsukishima's wrist. "You had dinosaurs lying around everywhere for fuck's sake".

Tsukishima looks personally affronted. It's strangely cute. "Don't talk shit about my dinosaurs".

Kageyama was about to let him know that he could and definitely would talk shit about his dinosaurs, but he paused when he felt Tsukishima's fingers brushing lightly against his. He turns his head, abruptly—it's more of reflex than anything else—and meets Tsukishima's gaze. He's close enough that Kageyama can see the small scar that's faded on his left cheek, the small bump slightly below the jut of his lower lip that is almost distractingly attractive. Kageyama tears his eyes away from him, refusing to let himself look too much and stares, stubbornly, at the spot above his shoulder instead.

"Don't you think," he says, apropos to nothing except to say anything else, "that they're a little dorky?"

It's not how he meant to say it, teasing instead of sharp, but Tsukishima slants him a look from underneath his lashes anyway, looking exasperated. He has to tip his chin down a little, Kageyama notices, to look him in the eye.

"They are not," Tsukishima immediately says, all ruffled, aristocratic pride, but it's better than his usual stone-smooth coldness and disdain. He's easily baited tonight, much more so than usual. Kageyama figures it must be the alcohol. "They're cool".

"Sure they are," Kageyama agrees, keeping his voice deliberately light, "maybe just about as much as you".

Tsukishima's scowl morphs, seamless—and much to Kageyama's surprise—into a satisfied smile. He, for some reason, looks tentatively pleased; an inappropriate reaction as far as Kageyama is concerned. Tsukishima says, "I'm going to take that as a compliment".

Kageyama twists his head to glare at him and absolutely does not let his eyes linger on the sharp slant of moonlight on Tsukishima's cheek nor does he study the smooth stretch of his neck when his head tilts. Instead he snaps, "You're so weird".

" _I'm_ weird?" Tsukishima sounds offended, even as he nudges Kageyama's hand, wordlessly asking him to pass the bottle. So he does, scowling all the while. "This is coming from the guy who _sleeps_ with his volleyball".

The scowl, Kageyama finds, is hard to keep in place. Tsukishima's brow is crinkled, his expression bordering on amused and Kageyama looks away before he can do something stupid, like smile.

(There is, Kageyama thinks, a streak of anger in him that runs about as deep as his love for volleyball and Tsukishima's ability to get under his skin. There's all sorts of grief he's been through—and all sorts of grief he's given without meaning to—but there is another part of him, softer and much more subdued, that hasn't been tainted by frustration and has yet to turn bitter. It's something most people find hard to believe. Kageyama can't blame them—it's something he has trouble believing himself.

But, he thinks, it's there. Sure, it's fraying and worn-out and rusty from lack of use, but it's there. He still knows how to laugh. He hasn't forgotten how to smile—even if his smiles are mostly tinged with bitterness than life—and it may take a while for that part of him to resurface, but it does: when they win a match; when practice lets off early; when he is right; when Hinata is wrong; when Tanaka makes a bad joke; when it rains. He's not completely lost).

"Give me back my alcohol if you're going to make fun of me," Kageyama says and plucks the bottle out of his hands.

Tsukishima shifts his head a little when he glances over at him from the corner of his eye. The disapproving frown he's grown used to seeing plastered on the middle blocker's face isn't there when he looks for it, and neither is the usually present downturn to the corner of his mouth. He doesn't even scowl, which surprises Kageyama a little. He does something worse.

He _pouts_.

"Oh my god," Kageyama says, something warm and aching and stupidly boyish curling in his chest. Weirdly enough, Tsukishima doesn't even notice him going into shock.

"Do you mind," he complains instead, reaching out around him to grab the bottle and missing completely. He ends up slumping against Kageyama's shoulder, nose pressing into the smooth fabric of his jacket. "I am trying to get drunk".

"Oh you're definitely past the 'getting' part," Kageyama snarks, half-tempted to push him away. Tsukishima lifts his head and glares at him, but there isn't nearly enough force in it—there is less annoyance and more of a begrudging humor and Kageyama realizes with a vague sense of horror that _they're actually getting along_.

He has half a mind to kick his ankle with his foot from where they're sitting, they're legs sprawled out parallel on the floor. Tsukishima kicks him back, smirking a little. And it's kind of strange—Kageyama doesn't think he's gone so long without feeling the urge to wipe it off. And it doesn't feel right, but not exactly wrong. It's also sort of comforting; in a world filled with ridiculous circumstances and disrespectful best friends, the only thing he can count on to remain constant is Tsukishima's ability to annoy the hell out of him. It's not pleasant, in any case, but he's grateful for it. It's familiar; it's just how they exist with each other. That, at least, hasn't changed.

"What's your favorite color?" he asks, unnecessarily, but it's mostly just to move the conversation than out of actual curiosity.

Tsukishima blinks, a cute little furrow between his brows that reminds him of Hinata. "Why?"

"Just," Kageyama shrugs, shifts a little so that Tsukishima's hip isn't pressing into his. They don't argue as much as they used to, but it's not like they actually have anything to say to each other than the occasional throwaway insult. Fighting was always easier than having to get along, and he'd go as far as saying they've gotten close, but not close enough that Kageyama feels comfortable without leaving three inches of space between them. "You don't have to answer if it bothers you that much".

A moment passes in silence. Tsukishima opens his mouth and then closes it again, deciding against what he had to say and turns away, frowning at the wall with a mixture of annoyance and self-conscious exasperation. And then, "Gray," he bites out eventually, stretching the word. "It's gray".

Kageyama blinks. "Not much of a color," he says and catches only a glimpse of the look of annoyance on Tsukishima's face before he files that piece of information away in his head. Tsukishima wears an awful lot of gray, now that he thinks about it. Kageyama doesn't think he's ever seen him in anything other than black or white or something equally monochromatic.

He's wearing blue tonight, though, Kageyama thinks belatedly, when he looks over at him, vaguely surprised but mostly just offended, because this is Tsukishima, sitting in his room, wearing his favorite color. And that shirt makes his arms look good. What a dick.

It's a long moment before he realizes he's been pointedly scowling at the floor and an even longer one before he lifts his gaze and realizes that Tsukishima is saying something, small mouth forming words. Kageyama doesn't really hear him; he's too busy being repulsed by his own thoughts about Tsukishima's lips and horrible choice of wardrobe to register what the other boy is actually saying.

"What?" He blinks, fuzzily. He's sure Tsukishima is rolling his eyes, but Kageyama can't really see him; there's only a faint light spilling into the room through the crevice under the door and the bright white of the moon is visible from the window beside them, but that's it—everything else is a blur of shadow in the dark.

"I said," Tsukishima snorts, looking vaguely annoyed, but something tugs at the corners of his mouth, part humor and part alcohol. "What's your favorite color?"

It always feels strange having to give parts of himself away to someone else, but Tsukishima tips his head, a sign that he's listening and not completely disinterested, so Kageyama tells him, a bit gruffly, "I like blue".

"Figures," Tsukishima says, snorting a little. He throws him a passing glance, and then he offers, off-handedly, "It's a good color on you".

Tsukishima, Kageyama finds, is much chattier when he's influenced by alcohol. It feels like he's figured out something he was never meant to know: Tsukishima likes dinosaurs and the color gray and is easily influenced by alcohol. But then again, he thinks, as he finds himself leaning a little further into the solid warmth of him, he's not much better. He's a little tipsy too.

"You have nice eyes," Kageyama says, almost unthinkingly.

The humiliation is quick—Tsukishima's shoulders draw up, hunching a little and he doesn't even realize that he's fallen almost sideways onto Kageyama's shoulder until the setter's hand comes up, palm against his cheek. Kageyama hefts his hand a little higher before he can think better of it, and then he's—touching. He's touching Tsukishima, his palm curling gently around the side of his neck and fingers brushing slowly over his hair.

He waits for retaliation, for Tsukishima to yell at him, slap his hand away, leave, something. But all he says is, "You're drunk". It's oddly disappointing.

Kageyama snorts. "You're the one who can't sit up straight".

"You are bad-touching my hair".

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kageyama snarks, but his fingers continue their soft, tentative petting. "Do you want me to kick you out?"

"You're the one who brought me here," Tsukishima counters, voice sharp and laced with disdain, but his lips twist briefly into some semblance of a smile, so it can't be all that bad. He wrinkles his nose though, when Kageyama's hand bumps his forehead. "You should really clean up. It's a wonder your room's still halfway decent".

"You ungrateful little _shit_ —"

"No, really," Tsukishima nods at the clothes strewn messily on his bed, the pile of books he'd originally planned on studying but still hasn't cracked open. His room is usually well-organized, but Hinata always leaves a mess when he comes over. "You should really do something about that".

"What are you? My mom?"

"No," Tsukishima replies, smoothly, "that would be Suga," and Kageyama frowns because the little shit almost makes him laugh.

"You're a pain".

"You're an idiot".

"Shut up," Kageyama grunts, but in his slump, he can only bring himself to punch Tsukishima a little bit. Outside, he hears the sound of feet shuffling across the floor, the clink of glasses, the sound of his teammates clapping shoulders, laughing. "I didn't think it was possible to be this annoying".

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but he ends up slumping a bit more, sagging onto Kageyama's shoulder, and for some reason, he lets him. "You're not exactly my favorite person in the world either".

"I'm glad we finally agree on something," Kageyama deadpans, still petting his hair, and then after a long beat of turning over whether he should say it or not, he says, "Should have told me you were a cuddler".

"Charming," Tsukishima says, flatly, but he sounds somewhere between annoyed and embarrassed, his ears turning a fetching shade of pink. "And I would hardly call this cuddling".

"I'm pretty sure that this," Kageyama says, turning his head a little so that his lips brush against Tsukishima's forehead--just to prove his point, "is cuddling".

"This is sexual harassment".

"What? This is totally harmless".

"I'll kill you," Tsukishima grunts, but the phrase has worn thin, fading and fraying. It doesn't sound nearly as threatening as it used to, at least not with him leaning into Kageyama's shoulder, brows furrowed and tufts of hair sticking out like an adorably disgruntled puppy.

"Right," he says, absently, staring past his head, and then after a long moment, he shifts, angling Tsukishima's head better onto his shoulder. They settle into silence, during which his fingers go back to their mindless petting, and then, "Your hair's getting long," he says, casually.

Tsukishima twists his head a little, peering up at him with a slow quirk of his brow. "What of it?"

His hair brushes a little past his ears now, not quite yet reaching his shoulders and Kageyama remembers how once, when they'd been on the way to a practice match, they'd been caught in the rain because no had thought to bring an umbrella. Tsukishima stood next to him, afterwards, shaking the rain off his jacket and Kageyama watched as his hair curled around his ears in a way that looked almost strangely vulnerable.

"It's getting hot," he says, shrugging off the memory, and schools his features into one of careful indifference. "Maybe you should get it cut".

"Maybe". There's a spark in Tsukishima's eye, the usual hardness in them dulling into something softer. It's almost imperceptible, like willow trees shaking off snow after a long winter, but Kageyama, who has never been perceptive, but not exactly blind to these things, notices: the tiny uplift at the corner of his mouth, the curve of his eyes; cast in half-shadow in the bright white of the moon, his smile is almost soft.

"You should," Kageyama ends up saying, when he can't stand the endearing warmth that starts building up in his chest from the smile Tsukishima gives him. The bastard, Kageyama thinks disgustedly, is handsome. All amber eyes and golden hair and quiet, steady confidence. "Probably sometime soon".

"Tomorrow then ," Tsukishima tilts his head, shifting against Kageyama's shoulder. They're quiet for several breaths, and then Tsukishima taps a light finger against his wrist, not quite looking at him, says, "You can come with me, if you like".

There is, Kageyama notes, a hesitancy in his voice that is out of place. Tsukishima's fingers clench briefly against Kageyama's hip, like he's waiting. There's a long drawn-out moment of silence where neither of them say anything, and then: "Sure," Kageyama grumbles, half-heartedly, and after a beat, lets his own fingers curl around Tsukishima's palm before he can think better of it. "But we're not missing practice".

They stay hidden in his room for a while, Kageyama already working out an excuse, that he couldn't stand the sight of his mother's peanut-stained carpet. Tsukishima snorts at him, says they'll have to fix that later. Kageyama knows that they will have to go back normal at some point, that in the morning, they will have time for volleyball and for bickering, but for now there is only this: the gentle press of fingers pushing against his hip and the solid warmth of Tsukishima lulling him to sleep.

It's not so bad, all things considered.


End file.
